


An End to Opulence

by Guardian Of The Lotus (DistantStorm)



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Beloved of Calus, Evil Guardian, Gen, Season of Opulence, Shadow of the Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 02:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20418542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/Guardian%20Of%20The%20Lotus
Summary: And thus the Shadow of the Earth was slain by Suraya Hawthorne.





	An End to Opulence

There were ashes in his mouth.

There was no way around it, with much of the City on fire. No matter. He had never been much of a solar Guardian, but any kind of energy churned up enough would burn. He could still hear their screams, even now.

_He loved it._

It was as delicious as he'd been told it would be, shrill and unfiltered. A treat for his refined palate.

Eventually, all things had to come to a close. He checked his gun. His cloak, violet and gold, billowed behind him with a tarnished shimmer. Looked up, at the great plumes of smoke that rose from the remains of the Tower.

The end-times were upon them.

Besides, he was no Guardian. Not any longer. Regardless of the soft, tragic insisting of his Ghost, who hovered at his shoulder. He would be one of the last, but he too would be purged.

_The line between Light and Dark is so very thin..._

No. Uldren was dead. Again. And again. Over and over and over. He had died over and over, until his Light had been gone for good. Enough, he told himself. It was time to grow fat from strength, to bathe this planet in the splendor only he could provide.

The Shadow of the Earth had a job to do.

The Emperor had shared his plans. Told his Shadow of the future they would create, before the end. In turn, the Shadow of the Earth shared them with his Ghost, who did not believe in in the Emperor's designs. The Shadow did not share them any more.

It isn't right, he'd said. I don't want to lose you, he'd pleaded.

But they will all lose, eventually. Not even the glorious Emperor in all his splendor can stop Death from coming. This is about feasting upon what remains, living in rapture, engorging upon pleasure right until those final moments.

Ghost does not speak anymore. Not even in those electrical whimpers. Not unless he knew of what the Shadow was about to do.

Here and now, there was no way he couldn't.

The Earth... and its Vanguard... and its _people_ had been given a choice. They would not release themselves of their worldly attachments. That is why a shadow was cast, why he must cull them. 

Very few understand. Those who do fight eagerly, growing fat from the enrichment provided. Those who do not are met with violent mercy. Above all, Emperor Calus inspires his Shadows to be benevolent.

There are no second chances in the end-times. Those who choose to repent, to abandon their tethers to the mundane only under the threat of death will never know the euphoria, the rapture of this enlightenment. That is why they don't deserve it. There is no room here for the unworthy.

The pleading of the Ghost annoyed him immensely. No longer can they communicate through thought, for the Shadow will not have the Traveler's spawn undermine him.

"Be silent," He barked. The Shadow's gaze must be strong, for the Ghost had flinched back, expecting to be swatted. His shell, once bright and polished, is chipped. The once Chosen tsksed. "It wouldn't have hurt if I had struck you."

In reply, the Ghost trembled, shrinking back further. It does not say as much, but this had hurt. It hurts actively. Darkness: his partner emitted it like a muffling blanket, a defense the small bot had no chance of defeating. It penetrated their bond like a pinprick - harmless, at first. But now it feels like the Traveler's Light being ripped from his core to linger. He does it, he will continue to do it. He knows, somewhere in his miniscule circuits that the goodness that once was his partner - that made him the brightest Light in all the universe is still deep down in there somewhere.

It had to be.

He still called upon the void, was able to summon his spear of lightning. Even if he chose to do so rarely now. It had to count for something.

Right?

They ascended the South Elevator, and when it inevitably froze half way up, the Shadow's eyes glowed blue, sending them on their way with an arc pulse. Reassuring, though the Ghost could not voice it aloud from where he hovered quietly in his Guardian's blind spot.

They were all but waiting on the lookout together, the platform above Shaxx's Crucible station, looking out at the world below. Ruined, all of it. By _his_ hand. A testament to the Emperor's lavish designs.

Ikora noticed him first, the void already summoned to her hand with hardly a second glance. She does not speak, but the words blaze in her eyes. _How could you,_ they say. _Traitor. Monster!_

**Shadow. **

Zavala did not move, remained still, his hands fisted atop the railing. Perhaps the gasp of from Ikora's parted lips reached his ears. Perhaps ages of battle left him wise enough to know his fate.

"If it will stop all this, I will die gladly."

A Thorn, black as night, as dark as the death of worlds was pointed at his back.

"You'll be the first," the Shadow said, almost delighted. "You won't be the last."

The scribes had written of acts to come. In many there were errors, discrepancies, waiting to be rewritten. They foretold of Zavala accepting his fate, and yet they assumed Ikora would turn sand to diamonds and alter worlds.

And yet it is Ikora who whimpered when the gun is pointed at her vest, stopping a charging Zavala - willing to die but not accepting of death - from his assault.

Delicious. Calus would find the story decadent, interesting. The plot twists had always been his favorite, after all.

"Ah, ah. Don't make me deviate," He threatened, almost playful. His gaze swung to Ikora, to her eyes of swirling gold with pupils constricted in panic. "She's terrified of dying. Death is coming for us all, you know. You had a choice," He shrugs, almost grandly. "You chose not to rise to the occasion and look where it led."

"This is madness!" Zavala snarled, through gritted teeth. "Genocide! These are the people you swore to protect, and you're having them slaughtered in droves.

The Thorn pointed at Ikora tilted to the side as its wielder considered, but does not waver in its aim. "But I am protecting them. I'm saving them from their earthly afflictions. If they won't embody the rapture, embrace their enlightenment, they will only know fear and hate. I'm erasing that from them. It is the least I can do."

"You're insane."

The words barely sound like the strongest Warlock, but it had been Ikora speaking all the same. He doesn't think about it, whipped out a second cannon and let its shot bite into her shoulder. She grunted, staggered, but did not fall.

Instead, her eyes darkened monumentally, and though her blood dripped slowly on deckplates she did not make any attempt to stifle the bleeding. She looked hateful. Powerless.

As they all would be, in the end. 

The Commander, on the other hand… he would still have to die first. Ikora would die wallowing in her futility, more so watching events unfold, but Zavala was unyielding. He would never let go of his ideals, not even in those last seconds when Death's maw closed around his throat.

Thorn's sight returned to Zavala, aimed at his chest. No amount of armor would shield him from the Shadow's deadly intent.

"Would you like to say your goodbyes? I had given you a day, but clearly you didn't take me seriously." The Shadow laughed, a menacing thing. "I am, after all, benevolent."

Zavala would not speak a word. His eyes were reduced to narrowed slits of hard, angry blue.

"You don't have to do this," A tiny voice intervened. Trembled, his entire body shook with fear of retaliation, but he proceeded. "You don't need to kill them."

"Be silent!" The Shadow boomed. "You do not understand."

"I understand this is wrong." He hovered into his partner's periphery. "You have to know this is wrong."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" The once-Hunter growled, "You do not listen!"

A shiver and shake of his cones leaves him almost wilted and yet his voice comes out resigned, angry. "These are your mentors and you want to kill them. It's wrong. You're wrong," He accused, directly. "It's you who doesn't listen to me, Guardian."

A black-gloved hand stashes his second canon and plucks the Ghost from mid-air. He throws the tiny robot with inhuman strength, letting him bounce and skid across the deckplates, cast aside. "Don't call me that! I'm not a Guardian!"

"No," Came a curt voice behind him. "You aren't."

"You shouldn't be here," The Shadow gritted. "It isn't your time yet."

"I think that's for me to decide." Hawthorne leaned heavy on her left hip, falcon perched on her right shoulder. Her eyes looked like polished stone. "Put your gun down."

"It's his time," The Shadow informed her. "Then hers," He nodded to Ikora. "You'll be… later."

"Enough. Stop with the crazy talk. The Cabal Emperor is insane. _You_ used to tell me that!"

"I was wrong. He is… _more_."

"He is wrong, and right now, so are you."

"Stop arguing." He trained the sights of his secondary on her, a threat. Louis chirped shrilly in reply, his wings beating as he hovered ever higher, ready to defend her.

When the Shadow's back turned once more, Thorn straightening, this supposedly fated moment upon them, the falcon swooped down like a compact missile.

The shot sounded in a different direction.

A flash of green - the muzzle flash - erupted like a verdant sun. A sharp sound, shrieking. Pained. Another flash - white - followed.

In a single moment, time stopped and restarted. Hawthorne staggered backwards, clutching her chest, taking a knee. Several feet away, the discarded Ghost blinked to awareness, unbelieving of what it was seeing.

There was nothing left. No feathers, not a drop of blood. Thorn was all-consuming. 

"He would have taken that bullet no matter what," The Shadow scoffed, when one of the Vanguard parted their lips, meaning to comment in the following silence. "Better to extinguish him up front than allow him to interfere with my justice."

"This isn't justice," Hawthorne said, shaky, almost. She shifted, moving closer.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't. I'll kill you too." He returned his focus to Zavala, who looked even more furious than before. 

"You just-" The Ghost clicked, hovering warily from its place on the ground in a state of shock. It had seen the flashes, felt it in its innermost places. "I don't believe it," He wailed softly. "It's gone. All of it - it's-"

_Are you alright?_

He stilled. It sounded quiet almost like it came from… but it was all wrong. That isn't how- "You just..." He looked at her. She appeared more wary than surprised. As if... _I-I'm sorry._

_Me too._

Hawthorne returned to her feet, gun in hand. "This is your last warning," She said, tone like ice. "I don't want to do this, but I will if I have to."

"Cute, Hawthorne, but-"

"I'm not kidding." Her eyes narrow.

Ghost feels it. He feels it like the sun after a rain, like a campfire in the wilderness. It feels like coming home. And yet it hurt, worse than anything he'd ever known, to realize the truth. "Guardian," He warbled.

"I told you-"

"I know," Hawthorne said, hushed. She blinked and tears fell from her eyes. "I know."

She drew a weapon that glinted white. The Shadow turned then, shaking his head. The antithesis of Thorn was trained on him. "That will never stack up."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Your Ghost." Her eyes glowed, like dull embers. It was the only warning he got.

"Wh-"

Another flash. Orange and yellow, like the sunset, the twilight sky.

She lowered the gun, body ignited in flame.

It hurt her too, Ghost realized without actually knowing anything. He hovered to her tentatively. Their gazes met.

The Shadow gasped, the single shot enough to kill, but not instantly.

"I wish he could have kept you."

The tears steamed and evaporated as they leaked from her eyes, burning her cheeks. She took a knee beside him. His body jerked, his organs recoiling in shock, shouting down. He looked at her, words trying to find their way from his mouth.

With a sad keen, the Ghost touched his once-partner's forehead, burrowed itself against his cheek. "I'm sorry I failed you." The Shadow tried to bring his hands up. Whether to harm the tiny bot or to console him, they would never know. Death did not wait. In the City below, their attackers drew back. 

“Where did you get that gun?”

“He left it with me, a long while back.” Hawthorne sighed, sounding as though she had never been more exhausted. “Wasn’t particularly thrilled about having a hand cannon, but I suppose it did the trick.”

"The Psions were likely aware of his-" The Shadow's Ghost paused, "You know. I think he’d allowed them to link with him, to see his thoughts. They're withdrawing now. Without him, they don't stand a chance."

"Ghost." Ikora's eyes glimmered, both pained and relieved. Her own still did not make any move to heal her. "Is he-?"

Zavala watched as Hawthorne closed the fallen Guardian's unseeing eyes, removing the gun from his waist, ignoring the blackened husk that was Thorn. "His connection to the Light was severed," Ghost confirmed. "When he-"

Ophiuchus emerged immediately in motes of Light. "I told you," He soothed, immediately, healing her.

A gun was handed to the Warlock, grip first. She saw the familiar symbol, the worn etching. "This is-"

"Yours, now." Hawthorne holstered Lumina somewhere on her back, beneath her poncho. No one asked her where she had gotten it, more concerned with the gun in her proffered hand. “Take it.”

She did. They did not speak on what it meant. In many ways, they did not have to.

The City burned for days and days, but its people persisted. Leaders rose to the occasion. Humanity came together, as it had time and time again, to push back the Darkness. And when the remains of the Shadows rallied, seeing retribution for their fallen leader, a Light was cast upon them.

-/

**Years Earlier:**

“And thus the Shadow of the Earth was slain by Suraya Hawthorne.” The scribe flinched, not expecting the Emperor to be directly behind them. “Interesting, I suppose,” He blanches, “But you’ve forgotten one key element.”

“Yes, your Greatness?”

“My Shadow will not be like any you’ve seen before. They are not yet perfect, but they will be made so by my designs.” He gripped the scribe’s head with a giant palm, squeezing to prove his point. The Psion died without so much as a sound, but all the others heard his anguish telepathically. 

“And when they are, only one as perfect as I will be able to cull them.” He looked around the room at the group of them. Clapped his hands and immediately his cup was full of wine once more. Jubilantly, he bellowed, “Surely one of you must be capable of writing something a bit more imaginative!”


End file.
